A Bond Unbroken

Part Two - The Young and Hopeless

Fillmore lowered a hand to his pocket to gingerly finger his off-campus pass. He had to make sure it was still there, because with it, he was untouchable. Folsom had given him the rest of the day off; an unlikely change-of-heart, true, but it wasn't every day one's best friend collapsed in the hall with a deadly new disease. Besides, no severe crime cases of any kind had arisen for a few days... Which meant the only use for the safety patrol was organizing files and all those other benefits of desk duty. The boy walked somberly over to the front desk, where a lady who looked of her early 20's was talking into several different phones.

"'Scuse me... I'm looking for Third. Ingrid Third. She takin' visitors?"

The young woman forced a smile for Fillmore, but she was simultaneously trying to keep up conversations with both him, her husband, and the angry brother of a dying patient. Her tone quickly alternated depending on whom she was talking to. "Yeah, sweetie, I'll be home at 6:30, hold on, there's a kid here.... Third, you say? You mean that sorta gothy-lookin' girl who was brought in an hour ago? She's unconscious, and I don't know where her room is." She urged a clipboard into Fillmore's face, and then picked up the phone again.

The patroller uttered something of a 'thanks' as he flipped through a couple of the pages that clung to the board. He quickly skimmed through the list of names, looking for Ingrid's. After a few seconds of searching, he found it, and immediately started towards her room. The halls in the hospital, he noticed, were clammy and smelled of ferns; it reminded him of a retirement home. These were the only thoughts he bothered to dwell on as he ventured further and further into the building's heart. He almost didn't notice when he passed by the door labeled with Ingrid's room number.

He pushed open the door cautiously, and after a quick look around, took a seat at her bedside. Several wires were hooked up to her skin, but other than that, she looked undisturbed, turned on her side as she slept. Her black hair, though unusually disheveled, still lustered in the weak lighting, giving it the appearance of polished metal, or the sparkles in a puddle of dew. As he watched her, he couldn't help noticing how innocent she looked when unconscious. He knew people in their school often called her strange, probably from her slightly gothic preferences in clothing. She also wasn't exactly the most popular person at X Middle School; after busting so many wrongdoers, she had a long list of enemies. But still, she was tough. And a safety patroller, with authority. Few messed with her.

...But, still. She looked so harmless asleep!

He smiled to himself, as he rose from his seat ever-so-slightly to adjust the sheets on her bed. They were unkempt, and bunched up into little clutches underneath her still form. It looked a bit uncomfortable.

He was enjoying her presence, yes. He could practically hear her voice in his head, telling him not to worry, as the look in her eyes usually said whenever they were faced with another impossible mission. But she was silent. The only noises in the room were the sounds of their breathing, and the beeping of the many monitors that hovered above Ingrid's bed.

"I'm trying to follow my own advice, Ingrid. Tryin' to stay strong in times like this. But it's hard, because I'm worried. Real worried. So you'd better be okay, because you're the best friend this former delinquent has ever had."

He was smiling as he said it, but the smile quickly faded. She remained motionless, her body limp, and her unconscious face never faltered. She probably hadn't even heard him. He let loose a melancholy sigh. He missed her; not physically, of course, because she was an arm's length away; but rather, he missed the sound of her voice, or the feeling he got inside whenever she flashed him one of her rare smiles. He loved seeing her smile; ever since day one, when he stuck by her, and nobody else had.

"What's this? Joan of Arc cracked a smile!"

It had felt like a victory all in its own; he wanted Ingrid Third to warm up to him, to be his friend. There was something about her. The fact he knew she was innocent, perhaps. Her impressive IQ? Possibly. Or maybe he saw something else in her... Something nobody else could see, past the light coating of gothic makeup, plain black dress and the matching army boots.

Anyway, reminiscing was sleepy work, and Fillmore, even in his state of stress, was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. His breathing, eventually, fell into step with the rhythm of the heart monitor, evenly-paced and slow. His head leaned against the wall as he slouched further into his chair, and the blinking of his eyes lasted longer and longer each time, until finally, his eyelids didn't come back up. He nodded off twenty minutes into his visit; deep into a dreamless, but peaceful sleep.

Ingrid awoke to the tune of monitors beeping, and the pattering of busy nurses walking about just outside her hospital room. Immediately, the events of early morning came flooding back, as did the searing pain in her abdomen. Not only that, but many of her joints were sore, and her eyes stung when she closed them. She blinked several times to clear up the image a little bit, and then gave herself a quick examination. The hospital gown wasn't too much different from her everyday attire, but it was softer and of a light turquoise color. Crackers... I must be a wreck. The girl weakly raised an arm to rub her eyes, until the room was only slightly blurred. But she was surprised at how difficult it was just to move a little bit. And so, she stayed put, listening to the monitors that had awakened her, and the gentle opening and closing of nearby doors, and the sound of her own breathing...

Wait...

She thought she heard something. One... two... There it was again!

There's someone else in here... She could hear breathing that wasn't her own.

Ingrid quickly turned her head to one side, alarmed at this new realization. She had thought she was alone... And she was even more surprised when she discovered the second set of breaths was coming from a boy her age. One she knew very well - her partner. Her best friend. And before she'd met the rest of the safety patrol... he'd been her only friend.

Ingrid held her breath. With his glasses on, she was unable to tell for sure whether or not he was awake. But his breathing was even, and his body remained in the same position, lolled to one side with his head resting against the wall. He was sitting in a small chair by her bedside. Now, she wasn't sure if she liked this situation... on one hand, it made her feel good to know that someone was concerned for her. But on the other, she didn't want him to have to see her in her current state. So weak, so vulnerable.

She raised an arm to his shoulder and shook him gently. "Fillmore," She whispered hoarsely, trying to rouse him. "Fillmore!" Her companion must've heard her the second time, because his head lurched to one side, and a low, drowsy groan could be heard emitting from his windpipe.

"What...?" He jerked awake in one swift moment, regaining control of his limbs as he straightened up in his chair. He blinked his eyes several times to make sure it was indeed true. Now, Ingrid was conscious, but she looked downright dreadful. There were feverish patches of pink around her eyes, and her face, though usually calm, was unnaturally contorted with pain. He could see a few beads of sweat forming near her forehead, and her green eyes seemed hollow and devoid of any emotion. Fillmore, however, didn't delve much into her physical description, or judge her by it; all he saw was his partner, the girl he couldn't lose. And he knew enough about her condition to know that he had reason to be genuinely worried.

She looked worse than she had a mere hour ago, before Fillmore had fallen asleep.

"Ingrid! Dog..." Was all he could say as he noted her sickly features. His eyebrows were arched in shock, but at the same time, he wasn't surprised at all. This isn't to say he wasn't worried. He was worried. That's an understatement. But he knew her condition would worsen; although he refused to believe that, ultimately, she might not make it. The thought was incomprehensible. 

She uttered her reply through gritted teeth - she wasn't angry, just pained. "Why are you here?"

Fillmore looked unbelieving. "Why am I here?! Snap, Ingrid, have you forgotten? We're partners, Ingrid. We're friends."

"So you came to watch your friend suffer."  She stared down at the pillow beneath her, not knowing why she was arguing with him. Truth be told, she was glad that he'd come.

"Come on, Ingrid. You can't lie, I know you too well." He leaned a little closer, staring her down with a heated gaze. He was concerned; maybe her sudden infirmities had gotten her discouraged, and she'd given up all hope.

"You're right. I can't lie," She consented, a hint of sarcasm present in her voice. "And... I'm glad you're here. But..."

"But nothing. You can't give up, Ingrid. You're going to make it out okay." He was even having a hard time convincing himself... And she knew this, apparently, because her tone never shifted. She shot him a poisonous look, just short of a glare.

"So we both can't lie." And she averted her gaze to the pillow again.

"Ingrid, listen... " He wasn't sure whom he was trying to convince. "You can't let this get to you. Maybe your recovery isn't an assured victory, but waiting to die isn't going to help your chances! Please, Ingrid..." He let his voice trail off.

The girl he was talking to didn't move a muscle. She was staring off behind Fillmore, possibly at the wall (also known as blank space). She could've been thinking of what he'd just said... or, perhaps she'd disregarded him altogether. Who knew?

"If you ever need someone to talk to, hey, Third, I'm your man." He announced gently, arms folded across his chest. Her eyes darted up at him briefly as he said those last few words, but shortly afterwards, she tried to avoid eye contact once again. "And I'll be here as long as you need me to be..."

Fillmore was interrupted by a passing nurse. She'd overheard a few snippets of the one-sided conversation and was shocked to see Ingrid awake. Without warning, in sprinted an overweight, middle-aged woman with graying hair, clutching her clipboard anxiously, her white nurses' hat tilted to one side as she took a gander at the girl in the bed.

"Good heavens, the child's awake!" The woman motioned to another curious nurse who stood by outside. "You said we'd lost her, Elisabeth!"

The second nurse, a significantly younger woman with blonde hair, poked her head inside. "She was on the verge of a coma, and her condition was only getting worse. I didn't think she had much hope."

The eldest of the two nurses only shook her head to signify her disapproval. "I don't want to hear about your assumptions, Beth. Go get the doc! And as for you, kid..." She turned towards a flabbergasted Fillmore. "Not to be rude, but shoo, shoo!" She ushered him out of the room.

"Not to be rude, ma'am..." Fillmore began, an annoyed edge clear in his voice. "But I'd like to stay with my partner."

The woman didn't respond at first, but the look on her face expressed everything going through her head: impatience, disbelief, frustration.

"Ingrid and I have been through a lot. She's always stuck by me, and dog, I'm always gonna be there to back her up. It's a promise that comes with partnership... No, with friendship," he narrowed his eyes. "And snap, you know what? I'm not gonna be a lousy friend." Fillmore jabbed a finger towards the inside of the room, making it clear that he was bent on not moving.

The nurse's expression softened a bit, but she remained firm. "Sorry, kid, but I'm only doing my job. We need everyone out of the room so we can diagnose her sickness, and perhaps try and find a way to hold it off." She pointed further down the hallway. "Head down to the waiting room. We'll alert you of when you can see her again."

Fillmore knew it was no use objecting. And anyways, a sudden onslaught of doctors was already making their way towards Ingrid's hospital room to take her away. He sighed, dispirited, and made his way towards the waiting room.